


But by the Grace

by kronette



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s04e20 The Rapture, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-30
Updated: 2009-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-20 20:52:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yes, he was physically tired, but the weariness he felt was literally soul-deep, a man stretched beyond his limits and held there until he broke. Whether by Alistair’s knifepoint, Sam’s obvious lies or Heaven’s cryptic orders, he continued to be broken into still smaller shards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But by the Grace

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [**spn_25**](http://community.livejournal.com/spn_25/) Theme Set 2, "A World Divided"  
>  Prompt #03 Agony

Yes, he was physically tired, but the weariness he felt was literally _soul-deep_ , a man stretched beyond his limits and held there until he broke. Whether by Alistair’s knifepoint, Sam’s obvious lies or Heaven’s cryptic orders, he continued to be broken into still smaller shards.

It had taken him months to realize what was truly happening: he was dying from the inside out. Man wasn’t supposed to know what the death of a soul felt like. The blessed darkness that claimed most before the destructive force ripped body from soul, was denied him. For the righteous man who allowed his flesh to drive his desires for one second – _one second_ – and brought forth the Apocalypse, would know no peace and deserved none.

The flaying of flesh and bone and marrow wasn’t Hell. Hell was _this_ – the _awareness_ of the slow, torturous shredding of his soul, billions of pieces smaller than atoms, each death a hitch in his breathing, each weighting him until he could barely lift his head.

When he lay down to sleep, he choked on the dust of his once-flesh. When he could bear to eat, the dryness closed his throat. When he dared look his brother in the eye, he saw a demon staring back at him. Whether it was the demon he’d started to become in Hell, or the demon that Sam was becoming, didn’t matter. They were both damned.

Damned, broken and dying a slow death didn’t stop Dean from being bound to the middle of a war between Heaven and Hell. He was nothing more than a weapon to be honed to fighting perfection, defending the Heaven that he would be denied at his death.

‘Hope’, ‘faith’ and ‘God’s love’ were empty words that consoled the inconsolable; mollified those who needed to believe in Something Other. The only _Others_ he had witnessed were the dregs of Hell and the depravity of humanity.

So when the agony ceased; when the blades were removed from his flesh and he breathed the stale air of his own coffin, he would not believe that an angel saved him. Not when the shadows of the angel’s wings spread across the barn walls, and not when he was transported back to his parents’ pre-marital time, did he see anything Heavenly or angelic about the being who claimed to have ‘raised him from perdition’.

Against these beings, these _angels_ , he argued to save a town of thousands from annihilation: the angel’s answer to stopping one of the Seals from being broken.

Against these angels, he stood up for one of their own. Though Fallen, Anna was still one of _them_ and he defied both demons and angels to save her.

For one angel, but against himself, he surrendered to the darkness in the remainder of his soul to face his torturer and mentor in Hell.

He failed Castiel.

He failed Sam.

He was the _only one_ who could avert the Apocalypse. He wasn’t strong enough. He wasn’t righteous enough. He wasn’t even _whole_ , yet this being, this _angel,_ Castiel, had faith in him. Castiel had faith enough for them both, and he began to wonder if Something Else just might exist.

Then Castiel was gone, leaving only his ‘vessel’ and a cryptic message about needing to tell Dean something.

His relief at Castiel’s return was overwhelmed by Sam’s further descent into Hell. By Jimmy’s sacrifice for his daughter – so much, too much, like John’s sacrifice for Dean – and Dean’s for Sam. Most of all, most damning of all, he was numbed by the words spoken to him by Castiel:

“ _I serve Heaven, not Man. And I most certainly don’t serve you.”_

Hell wasn’t the flaying of flesh and bone and marrow. Hell wasn’t the slow, torturous shredding of the soul. Hell was losing the genesis of hope and faith that an angel of the Lord unknowingly sowed in your ravaged soul.

-end-


End file.
